


The Truth Behind the Mask

by cazflibs



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: Spoilers for Series XII, episode 2 - 'Siliconia'Still suffering the effects of the mind transfusion, Rimmer lets slip his biggest secret.





	The Truth Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> _“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”_ \- Oscar Wilde

As soon as Kryten had slipped out of the Sleeping Quarters, Rimmer came quickly storming in, his face like thunder.

“Can you give us at least a twenty minute amnesty?” he grimaced, regarding the guitar in Lister’s hands with visible dread. “I'm just here to grab some supplies so I can camp down in the Diesel Decks for the night. Hopefully it'll be sound-proof enough.”

Smirking, Lister studied the hologram as he hurriedly gathered some reading materials and study notes before stopping in his tracks at the sight of a smudge on the metallic wall of the bunks. Abandoning his books to whip out a cloth from his sleeve with the flourish of a magician’s trick, Rimmer began to rub at it anxiously, his expression twitching oddly as he worked. 

“Um. You feelin’ any better?” Lister prodded. He knew from his own recovery that the effects of the mind transfusion had been slow to diffuse. Seeing as Rimmer had succumbed far earlier than he had, perhaps he was coming back to himself a tad slower.

Blinking quickly, Rimmer’s familiar scowl returned as he realised what he was doing. “Stupid smegging mechs,” he growled under his breath, quickly stuffing the cloth back into his sleeve. “How long is it going to take until I stop obsessing over grimy marks? It's like I can't help myself.”

Snorting his amusement, Lister made to reach back to his fridge before stopping himself as a thought came to him. He sank back into the sofa innocently, flashing a quick glance across to the hologram. “Grab us a beer, could you, Rimmer?” he called loftily.

“Get it yourself, you lazy oaf,” Rimmer groused as he crossed round the sofa to the little red fridge, plucking out a can before holding it out dutifully to Lister. “I'm not some simpering mechanoid anymore. You're hardly in a position to give me orders - ”

The hologram tailed off as he finally clocked the can in his outstretched, obliging hand. A tongue darted nervously to wet his lips as Lister took it from him with slow purpose. “That so?” he drawled.

The pair stared at each other silently for a moment, before Rimmer made an inelegant break for it, long legs galloping towards the door like a frightened gazelle.

“Hang on, Rimmer!”

Automatically stopping dead at the order, furious eyes frowned closed in a low growl of irritation. 

Lister’s hamster cheeks bunched in a wicked grin. The compulsion to obey instructions was obviously still coursing strong through the fuming hologram. 

“I thought you'd like to stay for a bit, man.” He swivelled round his boots to sit up straight; guitar poised at the ready in his left hand and a pencil waggling in the other. “Y’know, help me compose my next song about how awesome I am,” he teased.

Despite the unwillingly-rooted feet, Rimmer seethed until his entire projection quivered. “Oh, you complete and utter bastard.”

“Hmm,” Lister laboured through a smirk as he tapped the pencil thoughtfully against the notepad on the coffee table beside him. “I don't think those lyrics are gonna _quite_ fit the tune.”

“Tune?” Rimmer echoed mockingly. “That's never stopped you before.”

“Come oooooon,” Lister needled. “Be truthful now.” He turned his head elegantly from side to side, making an Oscar-worthy performance of flicking his dreadlocks and batting his eyelashes. “What's my best feature?”

Despite the deeply entrenched scowl and the seething vibes that radiated from the fortifications of folded arms, the obligatory blurted reaction gave a rather different sentiment.

“Your arse.”

Two sets of wide eyes snapped back to one another. Judging by the look of panicked alarm on the hologram’s face, that particular observation was not intended for public consumption.

Blinking through his initial mask of shock, amusement began plucking at the corners of Lister’s lips before peeling it away entirely. “Riiight.” The word rolled around his mouth slowly before stretching it into a grin.

Rimmer stood rooted, giving a rather convincing reenactment of a rabbit trapped in headlights. “I-I've got to go and clean something,” he stammered desperately. 

“No you haven't.”

Pained eyes screwed closed as Rimmer’s fingers pumped open and closed in agitation. His mouth could do with some scrubbing.

Guitar quickly forgotten, Lister twisted to lean on his arms against the back of the sofa, regarding him steadily in interrogation. “You, erm - ” A solicitous gaze tracked up and down the man’s uniform. “ - you check out my arse a lot, do you?”

“Lie mode. Of course I don't! Smegging hell!” The automated command, the desperate denial and the wailed cursing all stacked on top of one another like layers of a rich trifle that left Rimmer feeling quite sick. 

Lister stood, approaching the man carefully as he thrust his hands over his treacherous mouth in a desperate attempt to stop it from blurting out anything else without permission. Although the lower half of his face was mostly obscured, his panicked gaze resonated hot with utter mortification.

“Do you wanna talk about this?” Lister offered.

Rimmer shook his head furiously. Honest question, honest answer. 

Nodding distantly, Lister’s eyes dropped to study the man’s hands.

_Please don't,_ Rimmer’s eyes screamed. _Please. Don’t.”_

The hands clearly held back secrets - a Pandora’s Box of confessions that he was desperate to peer into. Lister’s breath quickened. For a fleeting moment, something rather shadowy shifted in the pit of his stomach; and with a dangerous disregard for the morality of what he was about to do, the command that would change everything sat poised on the tip of his tongue...

...until a stark moment of clarity hit him square between the eyes and he shuddered at the self-disgust that wormed its way up his spine.

“Go. Head for the Diesel Decks until the mind transfusion wears off.” Lister practically shoved him away with the bluntness of his words. He angled a chubby, turmeric-stained finger at the hologram. “But we’ll be talkin’ about this later,” he asserted. 

As desperate as he was to learn more, he wanted it to be a voluntary conversation, not an unwilling interrogation. Once Rimmer was back to his usual smeggy self, _then_ they'd discuss it.

The panic washed from Rimmer’s features like the tide drawing back to reveal the stony shore once more. “Preferably after I'm dead,” he muttered tightly as he beat a hasty retreat out of the door.

Lister arched an eyebrow, folding his arms with glee as he called after the rapidly disappearing hologram. “You _are_ dead.”

“Smeg!” echoed a distant curse from the corridor.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Mask Slips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594947) by [DivineVarod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineVarod/pseuds/DivineVarod)




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